


pried open

by manhattan



Category: Persona 3
Genre: Caring, F/M, Minako Needs a Hug, Personas Have Opinions Too, Shinjiro Curses a Lot, Tragic Characters in Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 21:25:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6627073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manhattan/pseuds/manhattan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Moon always returns, no matter how dark the sky looks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pried open

Tziah unfurled beneath their feet, golden and terrible. The scent of rusted copper slid through Minako's nostrils every time she took a breath; she had long since learned to gasp through her mouth instead. Shinjiro hadn't – he constantly choked behind his hands when they cut fetid corners, the face of his skin pale like the blade of Minako's weapon. Akihiko kept giving him looks, mouth tight, but hadn’t yet found the courage to –

“Are you okay?” Minako asked, turning around to stare up at him.

“I’m fine,” Shinjiro bit back. There was a wheezy quality to his voice, however, and Minako didn’t look away. Akihiko took a step in their direction, meaning to pacify, but Shinjiro practically bristled, shoulders tightening under the weight of his axe. His eyes were still on Minako’s. “I said I was _fine_ , Aki, don’t fuckin’ start.”

Akihiko stilled, mouth a line. Mitsuru’s cool eyes wavered between the older boys, but she had the sense to stay out of it. A glacier, floating dangerously out of reach – she would make sure to sink Akihiko later, when they were at the dorm. Of this, Minako was sure.

“Anything else?” Shinjiro asked. He hadn’t blinked yet.

“Mm,” Minako replied, cocking her head as she stared. The end of her naginata tapped on the floor. Shinjiro’s jaw was a hard line, made even more obvious by the cut of his collar. She stared; Loa’s loud, grating voice reverberated across the hallways of her mind: _desire is the echo of passion_ – and she felt her face go warm.

“No,” she managed, “there’s nothing else.”

“Let’s go, then,” Mitsuru said, and nodded towards the end of corridor.

“Right!” Minako exclaimed, smiling brighter than the gold-plated walls. Shinjiro’s eyes drifted down to her mouth, and then to the darkness awaiting them. _And passion_ , Loa shouted, its snake coiling around empty eye sockets, _passion_ _is always The Fool’s demise._

She switched personas at the very start of the next battle.

* * *

“You’d prefer someone like Akihiko-san, right?” Ken had asked, surrounded by fluorescent lights. His mouth had been shiny with duck sauce, and Minako had choked on her food, because – it wasn’t Akihiko who she preferred. Dominion had glanced at her, its eyes hard with derision, but hadn’t said a word. It hadn’t needed to; Minako had berated herself harder than any persona could have.

Her throat was still sore by the time she got to the lounge. Shinjiro greeted her from the couch, setting down a magazine in a hurry. The flush on his face passed when Ken did, bowing his head while making his way to the stairs. Shinjiro’s eyes watched him; Minako’s eyes watched Shinjiro.

“Good evening, senpai,” she croaked, smiling. Koromaru woofed at her softly, tail wagging.

Shinjiro turned to look at her, one eyebrow slightly raised.

“Oh, uh – I kind of had an accident? With, um. With hot sauce?” It was embarrassing to admit. It wouldn’t have, ordinarily. If it were Junpei or Yukari asking, it wouldn’t have.

“How does one have accidents with hot sauce?” he asked, getting up from the couch. Minako’s face was as warm as her throat had been, back at Wuck. She followed after him nevertheless – it was rare for Shinjiro to lounge around like this.

“Very easily, I’ll have you know!” And she laughed, despite the embarrassment.

Shinjiro was peering into the open fridge. He pulled back with a carton of milk in one hand, then opened the cabinet. He flowed around the kitchen like he knew it well. Minako sat on the closest bench and waited, shaking the tip of a foot while Shinjiro put the glass of milk in the microwave.

“What are you, a kid?” he muttered, without looking at her.

Minako didn’t feel like a kid – she never felt like a kid when she spent time with Ken. She rested her chin on top of her hands, legs swinging.

“Maybe,” she said, after a beat.

The microwave beeped – Shinjiro was holding a pot of honey. The spoon twirled inside his hand, like he was used to doing it, and then he slid it across the counter. Minako blinked, then wrapped her hands around the glass before he could remove his.

“Uh,” Shinjiro let out, surprised, and Minako looked up at him.

“Thank you,” she murmured, without blinking. “You didn’t have to.”

The older boy removed his hand from hers, hard enough that the glass clattered, but soft enough that the milk didn’t spill.

“Whatever,” he grunted, turning away towards the fridge again. “If you get sick again, we’ll have to postpone our expeditions to Tartarus.”

“And we can’t have that, right?” She grinned at him, even though Shinjiro wasn’t looking.

The milk tasted sweeter than anything she’d ever had.

* * *

“Shouldn’t you be doing something else?” Shinjiro asked, and leaned back on the stairwell, elbows against the topmost step.

His long pea coat opened, and slid past his thighs, pooling at the waist. He had long legs – they were bent, but his feet were in the step after hers. Minako wiggled her toes, inside her shoes, willing them to somehow grow past his feet.

“It’s fun being with you,” she said, staring at her shoe laces. An euphemism.

Shinjiro’s knees touched together. She couldn’t see his face, so she looked over her shoulder, and met his gaze. His face was pink – it was obvious even in the darkness of the street. Yamanato-orochi’s many mouths hissed at her in delight, the snakes curling into one another like a hair braid: _The Fool hungers—The Fool wants—The Moon would oblige—The Moon would unfold—The Fool should strike,_ and Minako’s face went hot. She stared at her shoes again, ears buzzing.

Shinjiro was saying something, but she couldn’t focus enough to hear. The September breeze curled around her bare legs like Yamanato-orochi’s words – warm, soft, distracting. Deadly, too, if she cared to let them bite.

Minako looked over her shoulder again, and towards Shinjiro’s moving mouth.

* * *

The day before the full moon, something in her bones went cold. The chill spurred her into an action she wouldn’t have taken, otherwise.

“I know what I’m saying,” Minako whispered, and did not wipe her hands on her skirt even though they felt damp.

Shinjiro had flattened himself against the wall. She could hear Ken placing the dirty dishes in the sink. In the distance, the sound of the TV was filtering in and out – the news were over, and a new episode of Phoenix Ranger was starting.

“No,” Shinjiro said, voice like gravel. He cleared his throat, then went on: “No way. Don’t – you don’t—“

“I do,” Minako cut in, and wrapped her hands around the unbuttoned lapels of his coat. His breath hitched, and his hands wrapped around hers at the same time he looked aside, eyes wide. Minako didn’t look away, but she could see Ken making his way towards the lobby, out of the corner of her eye.

“You – fuckin’ idiot,” Shinjiro muttered, red all the way to his ears. His hands were damp, too, sliding down to grab her wrists. “We can’t, there’s—I’m—“

“Shinjiro,” Minako whispered, leaving the honorific behind. His jaw was tight and the sight made her feel fuzzy inside. His eyes flicked downwards, and Minako leaned up, kissed him full on the mouth. His lips were still salty; he’d probably had noodles for dinner today.

Shinjiro didn’t reply – just tensed and breathed in with a sharp noise. She pulled back just an inch, just to watch him, their hands crushed between her chest and his. His fingers were shaking, however slightly.

“Fuck,” he said, the back of his head hitting the wall. “What if they’d seen—you can’t just—“

“If you’re worried about people seeing, we can always leave.” She hooked her thumb on the collar of his shirt. The underwire of her bra was going to leave a mark – on her rib and on his wrist – even through the clothes. Beneath the layers, her heart ached with some impossible fear.

It wasn’t enough.

“You’re worse than an old man.” Shinjiro wasn’t looking at her, but his heartbeat was strong and fast through the wine color of his jacket. “Fuckin’ kids these days.”

“Come on, senpai,” Minako pressed, “I’m either a kid or an old man. You have to choose.”

Shinjiro chose. He grimaced, the skin of his face pink, the light in his eyes bright – but he chose. His fingers were tight around hers, intertwined hard enough that her knuckles ached; they held hands up the stairs and into her room.

* * *

Afterwards, the console laid still under her hands, illuminated by greens and browns.

On the screen, sprawled across the couch, Shinjiro pretended to be asleep.

On the chair, curled up into herself, Minako pretended to be fine.

It still wasn’t enough.

* * *

The leather band stuck to her skin on warmer days. The watch’s arms hadn’t moved an inch since October fourth, but that was what her cellphone was for, right?

Sandalphon straightened its back, the metal of its skin glistening under the pallid lights. The wings were closed, but still cast a shadow over the pristine sheets.

“Hey,” Minako murmured, brushing her thumb across the skin of Shinjiro’s palm.

The flowers by Shinjiro’s bedside looked best at sundown. She’d brought him sunflowers, today; the tulips had already wilted. The nurse on duty had been kind enough to take them out of Minako’s hands.

“I miss you,” she said, and the clump in her throat expanded. Her eyes prickled. “I just—“ and all the air went out of her.

Sandalphon’s wings opened. The resulting breeze brushed her hair past her forehead, away from her wet cheeks. Sandalphon leant in over the bed, and whispered: _I have prayed for you._

“Yeah,” Minako said, hand tight around Shinjiro’s cool fingers.

 _I have never abandoned you_ , Sandalphon replied.

“Doesn’t mean it won’t hurt,” she said, wiping at her face with her free hand. Her knuckles dug into her eyes. “This is just – I don’t know.”

 _The Moon always returns, no matter how dark the sky looks,_ Sandalphon whispered, wings red like the sun. Like Shinjiro’s blood on her hands.

“I’ll wait, then,” Minako said, and looked at the clouds outside.


End file.
